


call it what you want

by callmearcturus



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Male Character, mandatory post-episode 4 fic, that amazing chair gets the attention it deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rhys is President, Jack is everything, and that beautiful chair gets used as intended.</p><p>(Pretty much just flashfic porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	call it what you want

This is what Rhys wanted.

He reminds himself as much a lot. He  _wanted_ , ever since he was a kid, to run a company, to be somebody important. He spent a decade of his life in the rat-race to get to where he was.

It’s hard to remember that on the days when quarterly reviews are going on, when Rhys has to talk to his department heads about  _job performance_ and  _quarterly quotas_ , when he gets back to the office (not his, not really Jack’s anymore, just  _the office_ ) and stands by the window with his forehead against the glass, his arms hanging heavy at his side. He’s exhausted, his brain buzzing with remnants of information from his day, and he shuts his eyes against it all.

“If you’re so desperate to get close to Elpis,” Jack says to his right (or what his brain perceives as his right, Jack is everywhere and intangible), “you could just use the airlock behind the bookcase.”

Rhys squeezes his eyes tighter shut and knocks his head against the window. “You know, I think I see why you didn’t want to be the  _actual_ President anymore.”

“Eeeeeh, paperwork and meetings and shit were never a riveting way to spend the day,” Jack admits. “Can’t all be trying out hot new weapons prototypes and banging cowgirls.” He paused. “Well. Cowgirl.”

Rhys has, by now, met the famed Sheriff herself. The mix of envy and terror that washes over him at the mention of her is intense and well-learned. He’s not sure how… how Jack and Nisha are making their relationship work since Jack made himself into the ghost of the machine called Helios, but every time she visited the space station, Jack was somehow even  _more_  smug afterwards, so Rhys figures they’ve got it under control.

“Well, that’s—that’s nice for you,” Rhys says, opening one eye and looking at Jack’s projection next to him. “Sadly, I’m not really a fan of guns and…”

He trails off, and that’s a mistake in of itself. Jack perks up, grinning. “What? No cowgirl of your own? Or cowboy? Or…” He seesaws a hand, waggling his eyebrows. “I mean, to be fair, I know you’ve not gotten fucked since you became Prez, which is baffling to me. What’ve you been  _doing_ , princess? What’s keeping you from getting your metal dick wet?”

“Oh, oh my  _god_ ,” Rhys cries, putting his hands over his ears. “No. We’re not—no.”

“What? It’s a  _nice_  metal dick! I wasn’t mocking it, kitten, relax!”

Rhys is not going to have a conversation with Jack about this. They’ve never talked about the fact Jack must’ve  _known_  since Rhys plugged him into his head, had to know Rhys was packing a few more… Hyperion-brand attachments beyond the eye and arm. Jack had never said anything outside a few remarks about the possibility of Rhys  _shorting something out down there_ , and Rhys was glad for it.

“Can’t you go play with the development team again? That game with the doors and the turning off artificial gravity thing?” Rhys is hoping Jack will just turn his focus onto  _anything else_  because now that he mentions it, yeah, Rhys has a lot of pent up… stuff. And it’s very suddenly bothering him.

“Nah, already played a few rounds of nerd pong today.” When Rhys turns his head back to Elpis, the view, Jack actually projects himself in front of Rhys, on the opposite side of the glass, his false blue fingers pressed to the window. “You keep frowning like that, your face is gonna stick that way, and I don’t know if you’d pull off the whole mask thing as stylishly as I did. C’mon, pumpkin, go sit on that big beautiful chair, you’ll feel better.”

There’s something in Jack’s tone, a dark simpering thing under the usual jovialness, that makes Rhys sigh and push off the window, returning to his desk. He knows that if he wanted to really push, Jack could try to seize control of Rhys’ body for a minute. It’s gotten harder for him since he started, well, being Helios, but Rhys doesn’t want the fight anyway, even if he could win.

He takes off his suit jacket and unbuttons his waistcoat first before walking to the desk.

And the chair  _is_  big and beautiful with just enough cushion for Rhys to sink into it, but not enough to tip into being  _too_  soft and flirting with back pain. It’s great, and Rhys exhales hard as he tips his head back. Really, he should have his meetings in the office, not in random meeting rooms. Make people come to  _him_  to learn their fate, not the other way around. Then, he’d get to stay in the chair.

“Theeeere you go,” Jack says quietly. “You know what you need, Rhysie?”

“Better employees,” Rhys says. “People who worked their way up the ranks based on being good at their jobs instead of politicking.”

Jack snorts. “Wow, that’s. That’s a level of irony that I just. All right, sugar, what I was  _going_  to say was you really need to relax a bit. And I have just the thing in mind.” Then, his voice was closer, so close that it was strange that Rhys couldn’t feel the breath against his ear. “Trust me, babe?”

He did. Bad idea, worst idea, but when you shared brainspace with someone for that long and took over (or reclaimed) Hyperion together, trust was unavoidable.

“Against my better judgement.”

“Cute. Funny. I’ll let that one go because you’ve had one helluva day doing the really boring Presidential stuff.”

Instead, Jack clicks his fingers, and Rhys suddenly finds his wrists bound to the chair as bright golden loops appear from the armrests and cinch down on him. Rhys, to his credit, doesn’t panic immediately, instead just looks around the room for where Jack’s lurking this time. “Uh? Jack?”

Translucent blue folds over his vision; Jack’s standing behind the chair, leaning against the back of it to hold his hand over Rhys’ eyes. “Easy, pumpkin,  _eeeasy_. Ol’ Jack’s got this. Just  _relax_.”

He can barely see through Jack’s hand, and when he instinctively tries to check with his ECHOeye, Jack tuts softly and closes out the scanning subroutine before he can manage anything.

There’s a prickly feeling against Rhys’ spine, there one moment and gone the next, leaving in its wake a slow suffusing molasses-thick feeling that seeps into Rhys, bold fingers fanning out from his spine and into his muscles. Knots he didn’t even realize he had in his back resist the warm push– drugs. Jack’s used the chair’s injectors for something. Rhys should ask what the hell Jack’s put in him this time, but as soon as he figures out what’s going on, the sticky warmth works its way up his spine and floods his brain, and Rhys sags back, head lolling a little as it starts to feel heavy on his neck.

“Aw, yeah. Man, seeing this takes me back.” Jack circles around to sit on the desk in front of Rhys, smirking as he watches. “Being an invincible heavily armed space station is a blast, but meat bodies have their perks, huh?”

“Mmyeah,” Rhys manages through his parted lips. The knots in his back are unraveling like thread off a spool, and it’s  _amazing_  how tense Rhys apparently was without even realizing it.

“Don’t doze off, Rhysie, I’m not done yet.” Jack stands between Rhys’ legs, leaning in. He lifts a finger to Rhys’ dataport, and a phantom shiver of electricity lights up Rhys’ cybernetics. “See, you’ve got something I never had. Never was into the whole idea of cutting a hole in my skull and bonding some computer hardware to the grey matter, but  _you_! You get all the nice toys, don’cha?”

From the back of the chair, the master override link unfolds on its spindly, segmented arm, poised like a scorpion’s tail near Rhys’ temple. The link hovers close enough it sparks against his port, making Rhys flinch and lean away.

“Nuh uh, nope. Other way, babe.” Jack’s eyes go yellow, like molten gold, and Rhys feels himself sway the other direction, closer to the uplink until he’s close enough for it to insert itself into his head.

There are things appearing on his ECHO HUD, things Rhys should be paying attention to. A lot of prompt boxes are approving themselves, a lot of permissions being given, reminding Rhys that Jack’s maintained his link to Rhys’ brain and isn’t afraid to abuse it. Laughing softly, Rhys shakes his head as much as he can with something plugged into his head. “What are you  _doing_?”

“I figure if you’re not going to get yourself laid like a reasonable adult with too much pent-up stress, we’ll do the next best thing,” Jack answers slyly. “I’d tell you to hang onto something but I’ve already got that covered for you.”

The warning’s still appreciated though, because once everything’s done uploading into his head and installing itself, a connection forms, from the closed circuit of data centralized in the office into Rhys’ brain, like a hook and line catching on something deep inside Rhys. It hums and vibrates, input and output, and before long Rhys loses track of it entirely.

It’s like a drop of hot oil falling into Rhys’ belly, the way he goes from zero to turned the fuck on in no time flat. His eyes flutter for a moment, head falling back until he’s looking up at the ceiling and groaning. It feels good, so weird and exquisite, sensory feedback without stimulus, and so vivid it’s almost painful. Rhys pulls at his wrists, more to have  _something_  than to try to get away.

“Easy, there, easy,” Jack coaxes. “Just let it happen, baby, it’s not going to hurt you.”

Rhys really wants to growl something back at him, hates the snide confidence Jack’s carrying like a mantle, but it’s already beyond him. He’s arching away from the chair, sucking in lungfuls of air as his body betrays him and follows Jack’s commands. There’s heat in his veins, pushing sloppily against the drugs in his system already, and making him whine at the warring sensations, the sleepy good feeling versus the liquid heat.

He sucks in a deep breath, head spinning, and feels himself getting wet under his clothes, so fast the whiplash makes his head spin. Gasping hard, Rhys tosses his head, eyes open but unseeing as his feet press against the floor, lifting him up out of the chair for a second before he slumps back down, tired and still humming with induced sensation.

“Yeah,” Jack says, low and greedy. “This is a good look for you. Man, it’s a shame I haven't loaded myself into a physical body yet. If you look this good being fucked, kitten…”

A whine rushes out of Rhys, through his teeth, almost punched out of him at the heavy promise of Jack’s words. Without meaning to, he pulls his legs together, thinking about it, Jack’s dick and how it would compare to the ones Rhys sometimes wore. He can feel how slick he is and it makes him flush red, so fast he feels dizzy.

“Yeah, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Jack sounds too close again, and Rhys keeps his eyes shut. “Don’t worry, babe, I don’t need a body to get you there. Just a little bit of  _this_.”

The heat in his belly sinks abruptly lower, and Rhys spares a thought to the possible mess Jack is making out of him. He wants– his hands are locked up and Rhys curses through his teeth. If he could just touch himself, he’d be  _gone_ , it’d be so good, he can feel it in his goddamn teeth how hard he’d come if only he could. It’s frustrating and drives him to desperation, canting his hips to and fro, trying to grind against the pressure of his finely tailored pinstripes and the seat of the chair, anything to get what he needs.

There’s an appreciative whistle as Rhys gets into it, moving against the chair until sweat beads on his brow. “Yeah, I’m going to have to look into some other toys. This is a  _good_  look for you. You close, baby?”

The petnames are coming faster than normal, silky from Jack’s digital lips, and Rhys blushes all over at each one. “Y-yeah, Jack, please, I– I just need a little…”

“I got you, here we go,” Jack reassures him before the shivery hot feeling in his spine suddenly burns through him like an electrical fire. He clenches all over, head snapping back and body going taut like piano wire. He comes harder than he has… in a long fucking time, and it keeps coming until he has to remember to breathe, sucking in gasps of air, then dissolving into incoherent winded sounds, begging Jack to stop because it’s too much, too long–

It releases him all at once and Rhys slumps like a marionette with snapped strings, head lolled onto his shoulder and eyes lidded as he sits there, wet and shining with a sheen of sweat, feeling wrecked.

He can feel it when the chair releases his wrists, but doesn’t even try to move. The datalink clings to his temple too, and Rhys finds that he doesn’t  _care_  enough to remove it. It can wait until he’s caught his breath.

His head slumps back against the chair, and Rhys thinks he could sleep like this.

“See?” Jack says. “Told you I’d take care of you.” Then, bright and contemplative, “We should do that more often.”

Rhys doesn’t have the brainpower to argue with him. At the moment, whatever Jack can throw at him sounds pretty great. He’ll have time to regret it later.


End file.
